Chapter 31. Italy: Sinbad the Sailor
Towards the beginning of the year 1838, two young men belonging to thefirst society of Paris, the Viscount Albert de Morcerf and the BaronFranz d’Épinay, were at Florence. They had agreed to see the Carnival atRome that year, and that Franz, who for the last three or four years hadinhabited Italy, should act as cicerone to Albert.
As it is no inconsiderable affair to spend the Carnival at Rome,especially when you have no great desire to sleep on the Piazza delPopolo, or the Campo Vaccino, they wrote to Signor Pastrini, theproprietor of the Hôtel de Londres, Piazza di Spagna, to reservecomfortable apartments for them. Signor Pastrini replied that he hadonly two rooms and a parlor on the third floor, which he offered at thelow charge of a louis per diem. They accepted his offer; but wishing tomake the best use of the time that was left, Albert started for Naples.As for Franz, he remained at Florence, and after having passed a fewdays in exploring the paradise of the Cascine, and spending two or threeevenings at the houses of the Florentine nobility, he took a fancy intohis head (having already visited Corsica, the cradle of Bonaparte) tovisit Elba, the waiting-place of Napoleon.
One evening he cast off the painter of a sailboat from the iron ringthat secured it to the dock at Leghorn, wrapped himself in his coat andlay down, and said to the crew,—“To the Island of Elba!”
The boat shot out of the harbor like a bird and the next morning Franzdisembarked at Porto-Ferrajo. He traversed the island, after havingfollowed the traces which the footsteps of the giant have left, and re-embarked for Marciana.
Two hours after he again landed at Pianosa, where he was assured thatred partridges abounded. The sport was bad; Franz only succeeded inkilling a few partridges, and, like every unsuccessful sportsman, hereturned to the boat very much out of temper.
“Ah, if your excellency chose,” said the captain, “you might havecapital sport.”
“Where?”
“Do you see that island?” continued the captain, pointing to a conicalpile rising from the indigo sea.
“Well, what is this island?”
“The Island of Monte Cristo.”
“But I have no permission to shoot over this island.”
“Your excellency does not require a permit, for the island isuninhabited.”
“Ah, indeed!” said the young man. “A desert island in the midst of theMediterranean must be a curiosity.”
“It is very natural; this island is a mass of rocks, and does notcontain an acre of land capable of cultivation.”
“To whom does this island belong?”
“To Tuscany.”
“What game shall I find there!”
“Thousands of wild goats.”
“Who live upon the stones, I suppose,” said Franz with an increduloussmile.
“No, but by browsing the shrubs and trees that grow out of the crevicesof the rocks.”
“Where can I sleep?”
“On shore in the grottos, or on board in your cloak; besides, if yourexcellency pleases, we can leave as soon as you like—we can sail as wellby night as by day, and if the wind drops we can use our oars.”
As Franz had sufficient time, and his apartments at Rome were not yetavailable, he accepted the proposition. Upon his answer in theaffirmative, the sailors exchanged a few words together in a low tone.“Well,” asked he, “what now? Is there any difficulty in the way?”
“No.” replied the captain, “but we must warn your excellency that theisland is an infected port.”
“What do you mean?”
“Monte Cristo although uninhabited, yet serves occasionally as a refugefor the smugglers and pirates who come from Corsica, Sardinia, andAfrica, and if it becomes known that we have been there, we shall haveto perform quarantine for six days on our return to Leghorn.”
“The deuce! That puts a different face on the matter. Six days! Why,that’s as long as the Almighty took to make the world! Too long await—too long.”
“But who will say your excellency has been to Monte Cristo?”
“Oh, I shall not,” cried Franz.
“Nor I, nor I,” chorused the sailors.
“Then steer for Monte Cristo.”
The captain gave his orders, the helm was put up, and the boat was soonsailing in the direction of the island. Franz waited until all was inorder, and when the sail was filled, and the four sailors had takentheir places—three forward, and one at the helm—he resumed theconversation. “Gaetano,” said he to the captain, “you tell me MonteCristo serves as a refuge for pirates, who are, it seems to me, a verydifferent kind of game from the goats.”
“Yes, your excellency, and it is true.”
“I knew there were smugglers, but I thought that since the capture ofAlgiers, and the destruction of the regency, pirates existed only in theromances of Cooper and Captain Marryat.”
“Your excellency is mistaken; there are pirates, like the bandits whowere believed to have been exterminated by Pope Leo XII., and who yet,every day, rob travellers at the gates of Rome. Has not your excellencyheard that the French chargé d’affaires was robbed six months ago withinfive hundred paces of Velletri?”
“Oh, yes, I heard that.”
“Well, then, if, like us, your excellency lived at Leghorn, you wouldhear, from time to time, that a little merchant vessel, or an Englishyacht that was expected at Bastia, at Porto-Ferrajo, or at CivitaVecchia, has not arrived; no one knows what has become of it, but,doubtless, it has struck on a rock and foundered. Now this rock it hasmet has been a long and narrow boat, manned by six or eight men, whohave surprised and plundered it, some dark and stormy night, near somedesert and gloomy island, as bandits plunder a carriage in the recessesof a forest.”
“But,” asked Franz, who lay wrapped in his cloak at the bottom of theboat, “why do not those who have been plundered complain to the French,Sardinian, or Tuscan governments?”
“Why?” said Gaetano with a smile.
“Yes, why?”
“Because, in the first place, they transfer from the vessel to their ownboat whatever they think worth taking, then they bind the crew hand andfoot, they attach to everyone’s neck a four-and-twenty-pound ball, alarge hole is chopped in the vessel’s bottom, and then they leave her.At the end of ten minutes the vessel begins to roll heavily and settledown. First one gun’l goes under, then the other. Then they lift andsink again, and both go under at once. All at once there’s a noise likea cannon—that’s the air blowing up the deck. Soon the water rushes outof the scupper-holes like a whale spouting, the vessel gives a lastgroan, spins round and round, and disappears, forming a vast whirlpoolin the ocean, and then all is over, so that in five minutes nothing butthe eye of God can see the vessel where she lies at the bottom of thesea. Do you understand now,” said the captain, “why no complaints aremade to the government, and why the vessel never reaches port?”
It is probable that if Gaetano had related this previous to proposingthe expedition, Franz would have hesitated, but now that they hadstarted, he thought it would be cowardly to draw back. He was one ofthose men who do not rashly court danger, but if danger presents itself,combat it with the most unalterable coolness. Calm and resolute, hetreated any peril as he would an adversary in a duel,—calculated itsprobable method of approach; retreated, if at all, as a point ofstrategy and not from cowardice; was quick to see an opening for attack,and won victory at a single thrust.
“Bah!” said he, “I have travelled through Sicily and Calabria—I havesailed two months in the Archipelago, and yet I never saw even theshadow of a bandit or a pirate.”
“I did not tell your excellency this to deter you from your project,”replied Gaetano, “but you questioned me, and I have answered; that’sall.”
“Yes, and your conversation is most interesting; and as I wish to enjoyit as long as possible, steer for Monte Cristo.”
The wind blew strongly, the boat made six or seven knots an hour, andthey were rapidly reaching the end of their voyage. As they
drew nearthe island seemed to lift from the sea, and the air was so clear thatthey could already distinguish the rocks heaped on one another, likecannon balls in an arsenal, with green bushes and trees growing in thecrevices. As for the sailors, although they appeared perfectly tranquilyet it was evident that they were on the alert, and that they carefullywatched the glassy surface over which they were sailing, and on which afew fishing-boats, with their white sails, were alone visible.
They were within fifteen miles of Monte Cristo when the sun began to setbehind Corsica, whose mountains appeared against the sky, showing theirrugged peaks in bold relief; this mass of rock, like the giantAdamastor, rose dead ahead, a formidable barrier, and intercepting thelight that gilded its massive peaks so that the voyagers were in shadow.Little by little the shadow rose higher and seemed to drive before itthe last rays of the expiring day; at last the reflection rested on thesummit of the mountain, where it paused an instant, like the fiery crestof a volcano, then gloom gradually covered the summit as it had coveredthe base, and the island now only appeared to be a gray mountain thatgrew continually darker; half an hour after, the night was quite dark.
Fortunately, the mariners were used to these latitudes, and knew everyrock in the Tuscan Archipelago; for in the midst of this obscurity Franzwas not without uneasiness—Corsica had long since disappeared, and MonteCristo itself was invisible; but the sailors seemed, like the lynx, tosee in the dark, and the pilot who steered did not evince the slightesthesitation.
An hour had passed since the sun had set, when Franz fancied he saw, ata quarter of a mile to the left, a dark mass, but he could not preciselymake out what it was, and fearing to excite the mirth of the sailors bymistaking a floating cloud for land, he remained silent; suddenly agreat light appeared on the strand; land might resemble a cloud, but thefire was not a meteor.
“What is this light?” asked he.
“Hush!” said the captain; “it is a fire.”
“But you told me the island was uninhabited?”
“I said there were no fixed habitations on it, but I said also that itserved sometimes as a harbor for smugglers.”
“And for pirates?”
“And for pirates,” returned Gaetano, repeating Franz’s words. “It is forthat reason I have given orders to pass the island, for, as you see, thefire is behind us.”
“But this fire?” continued Franz. “It seems to me rather reassuring thanotherwise; men who did not wish to be seen would not light a fire.”
“Oh, that goes for nothing,” said Gaetano. “If you can guess theposition of the island in the darkness, you will see that the firecannot be seen from the side or from Pianosa, but only from the sea.”
“You think, then, this fire indicates the presence of unpleasantneighbors?”
“That is what we must find out,” returned Gaetano, fixing his eyes onthis terrestrial star.
“How can you find out?”
“You shall see.”
Gaetano consulted with his companions, and after five minutes’discussion a manœuvre was executed which caused the vessel to tackabout, they returned the way they had come, and in a few minutes thefire disappeared, hidden by an elevation of the land. The pilot againchanged the course of the boat, which rapidly approached the island, andwas soon within fifty paces of it. Gaetano lowered the sail, and theboat came to rest. All this was done in silence, and from the momentthat their course was changed not a word was spoken.
Gaetano, who had proposed the expedition, had taken all theresponsibility on himself; the four sailors fixed their eyes on him,while they got out their oars and held themselves in readiness to rowaway, which, thanks to the darkness, would not be difficult. As forFranz, he examined his arms with the utmost coolness; he had two double-barrelled guns and a rifle; he loaded them, looked at the priming, andwaited quietly.
During this time the captain had thrown off his vest and shirt, andsecured his trousers round his waist; his feet were naked, so he had noshoes and stockings to take off; after these preparations he placed hisfinger on his lips, and lowering himself noiselessly into the sea, swamtowards the shore with such precaution that it was impossible to hearthe slightest sound; he could only be traced by the phosphorescent linein his wake. This track soon disappeared; it was evident that he hadtouched the shore.
Everyone on board remained motionless for half an hour, when the sameluminous track was again observed, and the swimmer was soon on board.
“Well?” exclaimed Franz and the sailors in unison.
“They are Spanish smugglers,” said he; “they have with them two Corsicanbandits.”
“And what are these Corsican bandits doing here with Spanish smugglers?”
“Alas,” returned the captain with an accent of the most profound pity,“we ought always to help one another. Very often the bandits are hardpressed by gendarmes or carbineers; well, they see a vessel, and goodfellows like us on board, they come and demand hospitality of us; youcan’t refuse help to a poor hunted devil; we receive them, and forgreater security we stand out to sea. This costs us nothing, and savesthe life, or at least the liberty, of a fellow-creature, who on thefirst occasion returns the service by pointing out some safe spot wherewe can land our goods without interruption.”
“Ah!” said Franz, “then you are a smuggler occasionally, Gaetano?”
“Your excellency, we must live somehow,” returned the other, smilingimpenetrably.
“Then you know the men who are now on Monte Cristo?”
“Oh, yes, we sailors are like freemasons, and recognize each other bysigns.”
“And do you think we have nothing to fear if we land?”
“Nothing at all; smugglers are not thieves.”
“But these two Corsican bandits?” said Franz, calculating the chances ofperil.
“It is not their fault that they are bandits, but that of theauthorities.”
“How so?”
“Because they are pursued for having made a stiff, as if it was not in aCorsican’s nature to revenge himself.”
“What do you mean by having made a stiff?—having assassinated a man?”said Franz, continuing his investigation.
“I mean that they have killed an enemy, which is a very differentthing,” returned the captain.
“Well,” said the young man, “let us demand hospitality of thesesmugglers and bandits. Do you think they will grant it?”
“Without doubt.”
“How many are they?”
“Four, and the two bandits make six.”
“Just our number, so that if they prove troublesome, we shall be able tohold them in check; so, for the last time, steer to Monte Cristo.”
“Yes, but your excellency will permit us to take all due precautions.”
“By all means, be as wise as Nestor and as prudent as Ulysses; I do morethan permit, I exhort you.”
“Silence, then!” said Gaetano.
Everyone obeyed. For a man who, like Franz, viewed his position in itstrue light, it was a grave one. He was alone in the darkness withsailors whom he did not know, and who had no reason to be devoted tohim; who knew that he had several thousand francs in his belt, and whohad often examined his weapons,—which were very beautiful,—if not withenvy, at least with curiosity. On the other hand, he was about to land,without any other escort than these men, on an island which had, indeed,a very religious name, but which did not seem to Franz likely to affordhim much hospitality, thanks to the smugglers and bandits. The historyof the scuttled vessels, which had appeared improbable during the day,seemed very probable at night; placed as he was between two possiblesources of danger, he kept his eye on the crew, and his gun in his hand.
The sailors had again hoisted sail, and the vessel was once morecleaving the waves. Through the darkness Franz, whose eyes were now moreaccustomed to it, could see the looming shore along which the boat wassailing, and then, as they rounded a rocky point, he saw the fire morebrilliant than ever, and about it five or six persons seated. The blazeill
umined the sea for a hundred paces around. Gaetano skirted the light,carefully keeping the boat in the shadow; then, when they were oppositethe fire, he steered to the centre of the circle, singing a fishingsong, of which his companions sung the chorus.
At the first words of the song the men seated round the fire arose andapproached the landing-place, their eyes fixed on the boat, evidentlyseeking to know who the new-comers were and what were their intentions.They soon appeared satisfied and returned (with the exception of one,who remained at the shore) to their fire, at which the carcass of a goatwas roasting. When the boat was within twenty paces of the shore, theman on the beach, who carried a carbine, presented arms after the mannerof a sentinel, and cried, “Who comes there?” in Sardinian.
Franz coolly cocked both barrels. Gaetano then exchanged a few wordswith this man which the traveller did not understand, but whichevidently concerned him.
“Will your excellency give your name, or remain incognito?” asked thecaptain.
“My name must rest unknown,” replied Franz; “merely say I am a Frenchmantravelling for pleasure.”
As soon as Gaetano had transmitted this answer, the sentinel gave anorder to one of the men seated round the fire, who rose and disappearedamong the rocks. Not a word was spoken, everyone seemed occupied, Franzwith his disembarkment, the sailors with their sails, the smugglers withtheir goat; but in the midst of all this carelessness it was evidentthat they mutually observed each other.
The man who had disappeared returned suddenly on the opposite side tothat by which he had left; he made a sign with his head to the sentinel,who, turning to the boat, said, “S’accommodi.” The Italian s’accommodiis untranslatable; it means at once, “Come, enter, you are welcome; makeyourself at home; you are the master.” It is like that Turkish phrase ofMolière’s that so astonished the bourgeois gentleman by the number ofthings implied in its utterance.
The sailors did not wait for a second invitation; four strokes of theoar brought them to land; Gaetano sprang to shore, exchanged a few wordswith the sentinel, then his comrades disembarked, and lastly came Franz.One of his guns was swung over his shoulder, Gaetano had the other, anda sailor held his rifle; his dress, half artist, half dandy, did notexcite any suspicion, and, consequently, no disquietude. The boat wasmoored to the shore, and they advanced a few paces to find a comfortablebivouac; but, doubtless, the spot they chose did not suit the smugglerwho filled the post of sentinel, for he cried out:
“Not that way, if you please.”
Gaetano faltered an excuse, and advanced to the opposite side, while twosailors kindled torches at the fire to light them on their way.
They advanced about thirty paces, and then stopped at a small esplanadesurrounded with rocks, in which seats had been cut, not unlike sentry-boxes. Around in the crevices of the rocks grew a few dwarf oaks andthick bushes of myrtles. Franz lowered a torch, and saw by the mass ofcinders that had accumulated that he was not the first to discover thisretreat, which was, doubtless, one of the halting-places of thewandering visitors of Monte Cristo.
As for his suspicions, once on terra firma, once that he had seen theindifferent, if not friendly, appearance of his hosts, his anxiety hadquite disappeared, or rather, at sight of the goat, had turned toappetite. He mentioned this to Gaetano, who replied that nothing couldbe more easy than to prepare a supper when they had in their boat,bread, wine, half a dozen partridges, and a good fire to roast them by.
“Besides,” added he, “if the smell of their roast meat tempts you, Iwill go and offer them two of our birds for a slice.”
“You are a born diplomat,” returned Franz; “go and try.”
Meanwhile the sailors had collected dried sticks and branches with whichthey made a fire. Franz waited impatiently, inhaling the aroma of theroasted meat, when the captain returned with a mysterious air.
“Well,” said Franz, “anything new?—do they refuse?”
“On the contrary,” returned Gaetano, “the chief, who was told you were ayoung Frenchman, invites you to sup with him.”
“Well,” observed Franz, “this chief is very polite, and I see noobjection—the more so as I bring my share of the supper.”
“Oh, it is not that; he has plenty, and to spare, for supper; but hemakes one condition, and rather a peculiar one, before he will receiveyou at his house.”
“His house? Has he built one here, then?”
“No, but he has a very comfortable one all the same, so they say.”
“You know this chief, then?”
“I have heard talk of him.”
“Favorably or otherwise?”
“Both.”
“The deuce!—and what is this condition?”
“That you are blindfolded, and do not take off the bandage until hehimself bids you.”
Franz looked at Gaetano, to see, if possible, what he thought of thisproposal. “Ah,” replied he, guessing Franz’s thought, “I know this is aserious matter.”
“What should you do in my place?”
“I, who have nothing to lose,—I should go.”
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“You would accept?”
“Yes, were it only out of curiosity.”
“There is something very peculiar about this chief, then?”
“Listen,” said Gaetano, lowering his voice, “I do not know if what theysay is true”—he stopped to see if anyone was near.
“What do they say?”
“That this chief inhabits a cavern to which the Pitti Palace isnothing.”
“What nonsense!” said Franz, reseating himself.
“It is no nonsense; it is quite true. Cama, the pilot of the SaintFerdinand, went in once, and he came back amazed, vowing that suchtreasures were only to be heard of in fairy tales.”
“Do you know,” observed Franz, “that with such stories you make me thinkof Ali Baba’s enchanted cavern?”
“I tell you what I have been told.”
“Then you advise me to accept?”
“Oh, I don’t say that; your excellency will do as you please; I shouldbe sorry to advise you in the matter.”
Franz pondered the matter for a few moments, concluded that a man sorich could not have any intention of plundering him of what little hehad, and seeing only the prospect of a good supper, accepted. Gaetanodeparted with the reply. Franz was prudent, and wished to learn all hepossibly could concerning his host. He turned towards the sailor, who,during this dialogue, had sat gravely plucking the partridges with theair of a man proud of his office, and asked him how these men hadlanded, as no vessel of any kind was visible.
“Never mind that,” returned the sailor, “I know their vessel.”
“Is it a very beautiful vessel?”
“I would not wish for a better to sail round the world.”
“Of what burden is she?”
“About a hundred tons; but she is built to stand any weather. She iswhat the English call a yacht.”
“Where was she built?”
“I know not; but my own opinion is she is a Genoese.”
“And how did a leader of smugglers,” continued Franz, “venture to builda vessel designed for such a purpose at Genoa?”
“I did not say that the owner was a smuggler,” replied the sailor.
“No; but Gaetano did, I thought.”
“Gaetano had only seen the vessel from a distance, he had not thenspoken to anyone.”
“And if this person be not a smuggler, who is he?”
“A wealthy signor, who travels for his pleasure.”
“Come,” thought Franz, “he is still more mysterious, since the twoaccounts do not agree.”
“What is his name?”
“If you ask him, he says Sinbad the Sailor; but I doubt if it be hisreal name.”
“Sinbad the Sailor?”
“Yes.”
“And where does he reside?”
“On the sea.”
“What country does he come from?”
“I do not kn
ow.”
“Have you ever seen him?”
“Sometimes.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
“Your excellency will judge for yourself.”
“Where will he receive me?”
“No doubt in the subterranean palace Gaetano told you of.”
“Have you never had the curiosity, when you have landed and found thisisland deserted, to seek for this enchanted palace?”
“Oh, yes, more than once, but always in vain; we examined the grotto allover, but we never could find the slightest trace of any opening; theysay that the door is not opened by a key, but a magic word.”
“Decidedly,” muttered Franz, “this is an Arabian Nights’ adventure.”
“His excellency waits for you,” said a voice, which he recognized asthat of the sentinel. He was accompanied by two of the yacht’s crew.
Franz drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and presented it to the manwho had spoken to him. Without uttering a word, they bandaged his eyeswith a care that showed their apprehensions of his committing someindiscretion. Afterwards he was made to promise that he would not makethe least attempt to raise the bandage. He promised.
Then his two guides took his arms, and he went on, guided by them, andpreceded by the sentinel. After going about thirty paces, he smelt theappetizing odor of the kid that was roasting, and knew thus that he waspassing the bivouac; they then led him on about fifty paces farther,evidently advancing towards that part of the shore where they would notallow Gaetano to go—a refusal he could now comprehend.
Presently, by a change in the atmosphere, he knew that they wereentering a cave; after going on for a few seconds more he heard acrackling, and it seemed to him as though the atmosphere again changed,and became balmy and perfumed. At length his feet touched on a thick andsoft carpet, and his guides let go their hold of him. There was amoment’s silence, and then a voice, in excellent French, although, witha foreign accent, said:
“Welcome, sir. I beg you will remove your bandage.”
It may be supposed, then, Franz did not wait for a repetition of thispermission, but took off the handkerchief, and found himself in thepresence of a man from thirty-eight to forty years of age, dressed in aTunisian costume, that is to say, a red cap with a long blue silktassel, a vest of black cloth embroidered with gold, pantaloons of deepred, large and full gaiters of the same color, embroidered with goldlike the vest, and yellow slippers; he had a splendid cashmere round hiswaist, and a small sharp and crooked cangiar was passed through hisgirdle.
Although of a paleness that was almost livid, this man had a remarkablyhandsome face; his eyes were penetrating and sparkling; his nose, quitestraight, and projecting direct from the brow, was of the pure Greektype, while his teeth, as white as pearls, were set off to admiration bythe black moustache that encircled them.
His pallor was so peculiar, that it seemed to pertain to one who hadbeen long entombed, and who was incapable of resuming the healthy glowand hue of life. He was not particularly tall, but extremely well made,and, like the men of the South, had small hands and feet. But whatastonished Franz, who had treated Gaetano’s description as a fable, wasthe splendor of the apartment in which he found himself.
The entire chamber was lined with crimson brocade, worked with flowersof gold. In a recess was a kind of divan, surmounted with a stand ofArabian swords in silver scabbards, and the handles resplendent withgems; from the ceiling hung a lamp of Venetian glass, of beautiful shapeand color, while the feet rested on a Turkey carpet, in which they sunkto the instep; tapestry hung before the door by which Franz had entered,and also in front of another door, leading into a second apartment whichseemed to be brilliantly illuminated.
The host gave Franz time to recover from his surprise, and, moreover,returned look for look, not even taking his eyes off him.
“Sir,” he said, after a pause, “a thousand excuses for the precautiontaken in your introduction hither; but as, during the greater portion ofthe year, this island is deserted, if the secret of this abode werediscovered, I should doubtless, find on my return my temporaryretirement in a state of great disorder, which would be exceedinglyannoying, not for the loss it occasioned me, but because I should nothave the certainty I now possess of separating myself from all the restof mankind at pleasure. Let me now endeavor to make you forget thistemporary unpleasantness, and offer you what no doubt you did not expectto find here—that is to say, a tolerable supper and pretty comfortablebeds.”
“Ma foi, my dear sir,” replied Franz, “make no apologies. I have alwaysobserved that they bandage people’s eyes who penetrate enchantedpalaces, for instance, those of Raoul in the Huguenots, and really Ihave nothing to complain of, for what I see makes me think of thewonders of the Arabian Nights.”
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“Alas! I may say with Lucullus, if I could have anticipated the honor ofyour visit, I would have prepared for it. But such as is my hermitage,it is at your disposal; such as is my supper, it is yours to share, ifyou will. Ali, is the supper ready?”
At this moment the tapestry moved aside, and a Nubian, black as ebony,and dressed in a plain white tunic, made a sign to his master that allwas prepared in the dining-room.
“Now,” said the unknown to Franz, “I do not know if you are of myopinion, but I think nothing is more annoying than to remain two orthree hours together without knowing by name or appellation how toaddress one another. Pray observe, that I too much respect the laws ofhospitality to ask your name or title. I only request you to give me oneby which I may have the pleasure of addressing you. As for myself, thatI may put you at your ease, I tell you that I am generally called‘Sinbad the Sailor.’”
“And I,” replied Franz, “will tell you, as I only require his wonderfullamp to make me precisely like Aladdin, that I see no reason why at thismoment I should not be called Aladdin. That will keep us from going awayfrom the East whither I am tempted to think I have been conveyed by somegood genius.”
“Well, then, Signor Aladdin,” replied the singular Amphitryon, “youheard our repast announced, will you now take the trouble to enter thedining-room, your humble servant going first to show the way?”
At these words, moving aside the tapestry, Sinbad preceded his guest.Franz now looked upon another scene of enchantment; the table wassplendidly covered, and once convinced of this important point he casthis eyes around him. The dining-room was scarcely less striking than theroom he had just left; it was entirely of marble, with antique bas-reliefs of priceless value; and at the four corners of this apartment,which was oblong, were four magnificent statues, having baskets in theirhands. These baskets contained four pyramids of most splendid fruit;there were Sicily pine-apples, pomegranates from Malaga, oranges fromthe Balearic Isles, peaches from France, and dates from Tunis.
The supper consisted of a roast pheasant garnished with Corsicanblackbirds; a boar’s ham with jelly, a quarter of a kid with tartarsauce, a glorious turbot, and a gigantic lobster. Between these largedishes were smaller ones containing various dainties. The dishes were ofsilver, and the plates of Japanese china.
Franz rubbed his eyes in order to assure himself that this was not adream. Ali alone was present to wait at table, and acquitted himself soadmirably, that the guest complimented his host thereupon.
“Yes,” replied he, while he did the honors of the supper with much easeand grace—“yes, he is a poor devil who is much devoted to me, and doesall he can to prove it. He remembers that I saved his life, and as hehas a regard for his head, he feels some gratitude towards me for havingkept it on his shoulders.”
Ali approached his master, took his hand, and kissed it.
“Would it be impertinent, Signor Sinbad,” said Franz, “to ask you theparticulars of this kindness?”
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“Oh, they are simple enough,” replied the host. “It seems the fellow hadbeen caught wandering nearer to the harem of the Bey of Tunis thanetiquette permits to one of his color, and he was condemned by the Beyto
have his tongue cut out, and his hand and head cut off; the tonguethe first day, the hand the second, and the head the third. I always hada desire to have a mute in my service, so learning the day his tonguewas cut out, I went to the Bey, and proposed to give him for Ali asplendid double-barreled gun, which I knew he was very desirous ofhaving. He hesitated a moment, he was so very desirous to complete thepoor devil’s punishment. But when I added to the gun an English cutlasswith which I had shivered his highness’s yataghan to pieces, the Beyyielded, and agreed to forgive the hand and head, but on condition thatthe poor fellow never again set foot in Tunis. This was a useless clausein the bargain, for whenever the coward sees the first glimpse of theshores of Africa, he runs down below, and can only be induced to appearagain when we are out of sight of that quarter of the globe.”
Franz remained a moment silent and pensive, hardly knowing what to thinkof the half-kindness, half-cruelty, with which his host related thebrief narrative.
“And like the celebrated sailor whose name you have assumed,” he said,by way of changing the conversation, “you pass your life in travelling?”
“Yes. I made a vow at a time when I little thought I should ever be ableto accomplish it,” said the unknown with a singular smile; “and I madesome others also which I hope I may fulfil in due season.”
Although Sinbad pronounced these words with much calmness, his eyes gaveforth gleams of extraordinary ferocity.
“You have suffered a great deal, sir?” said Franz inquiringly.
Sinbad started and looked fixedly at him, as he replied, “What makes yousuppose so?”
“Everything,” answered Franz,—“your voice, your look, your pallidcomplexion, and even the life you lead.”
“I?—I live the happiest life possible, the real life of a pasha. I amking of all creation. I am pleased with one place, and stay there; I gettired of it, and leave it; I am free as a bird and have wings like one;my attendants obey my slightest wish. Sometimes I amuse myself bydelivering some bandit or criminal from the bonds of the law. Then Ihave my mode of dispensing justice, silent and sure, without respite orappeal, which condemns or pardons, and which no one sees. Ah, if you hadtasted my life, you would not desire any other, and would never returnto the world unless you had some great project to accomplish there.”
“Revenge, for instance!” observed Franz.
The unknown fixed on the young man one of those looks which penetrateinto the depth of the heart and thoughts. “And why revenge?” he asked.
“Because,” replied Franz, “you seem to me like a man who, persecuted bysociety, has a fearful account to settle with it.”
“Ah!” responded Sinbad, laughing with his singular laugh, whichdisplayed his white and sharp teeth. “You have not guessed rightly. Suchas you see me I am, a sort of philosopher, and one day perhaps I shallgo to Paris to rival Monsieur Appert, and the man in the little bluecloak.”
“And will that be the first time you ever took that journey?”
“Yes; it will. I must seem to you by no means curious, but I assure youthat it is not my fault I have delayed it so long—it will happen one dayor the other.”
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“And do you propose to make this journey very shortly?”
“I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on certainarrangements.”
“I should like to be there at the time you come, and I will endeavor torepay you, as far as lies in my power, for your liberal hospitalitydisplayed to me at Monte Cristo.”
“I should avail myself of your offer with pleasure,” replied the host,“but, unfortunately, if I go there, it will be, in all probability,incognito.”
The supper appeared to have been supplied solely for Franz, for theunknown scarcely touched one or two dishes of the splendid banquet towhich his guest did ample justice. Then Ali brought on the dessert, orrather took the baskets from the hands of the statues and placed them onthe table. Between the two baskets he placed a small silver cup with asilver cover. The care with which Ali placed this cup on the tableroused Franz’s curiosity. He raised the cover and saw a kind of greenishpaste, something like preserved angelica, but which was perfectlyunknown to him. He replaced the lid, as ignorant of what the cupcontained as he was before he had looked at it, and then casting hiseyes towards his host he saw him smile at his disappointment.
“You cannot guess,” said he, “what there is in that small vase, canyou?”
“No, I really cannot.”
“Well, then, that green preserve is nothing less than the ambrosia whichHebe served at the table of Jupiter.”
“But,” replied Franz, “this ambrosia, no doubt, in passing throughmortal hands has lost its heavenly appellation and assumed a human name;in vulgar phrase, what may you term this composition, for which, to tellthe truth, I do not feel any particular desire?”
“Ah, thus it is that our material origin is revealed,” cried Sinbad; “wefrequently pass so near to happiness without seeing, without regardingit, or if we do see and regard it, yet without recognizing it. Are you aman for the substantials, and is gold your god? taste this, and themines of Peru, Guzerat, and Golconda are opened to you. Are you a man ofimagination—a poet? taste this, and the boundaries of possibilitydisappear; the fields of infinite space open to you, you advance free inheart, free in mind, into the boundless realms of unfettered reverie.Are you ambitious, and do you seek after the greatnesses of the earth?taste this, and in an hour you will be a king, not a king of a pettykingdom hidden in some corner of Europe like France, Spain, or England,but king of the world, king of the universe, king of creation; withoutbowing at the feet of Satan, you will be king and master of all thekingdoms of the earth. Is it not tempting what I offer you, and is itnot an easy thing, since it is only to do thus? look!”
At these words he uncovered the small cup which contained the substanceso lauded, took a teaspoonful of the magic sweetmeat, raised it to hislips, and swallowed it slowly with his eyes half shut and his head bentbackwards. Franz did not disturb him whilst he absorbed his favoritesweetmeat, but when he had finished, he inquired:
“What, then, is this precious stuff?”
“Did you ever hear,” he replied, “of the Old Man of the Mountain, whoattempted to assassinate Philippe Auguste?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well, you know he reigned over a rich valley which was overhung by themountain whence he derived his picturesque name. In this valley weremagnificent gardens planted by Hassen-ben-Sabah, and in these gardensisolated pavilions. Into these pavilions he admitted the elect, andthere, says Marco Polo, gave them to eat a certain herb, whichtransported them to Paradise, in the midst of ever-blooming shrubs,ever-ripe fruit, and ever-lovely virgins. What these happy persons tookfor reality was but a dream; but it was a dream so soft, so voluptuous,so enthralling, that they sold themselves body and soul to him who gaveit to them, and obedient to his orders as to those of a deity, struckdown the designated victim, died in torture without a murmur, believingthat the death they underwent was but a quick transition to that life ofdelights of which the holy herb, now before you, had given them a slightforetaste.”
“Then,” cried Franz, “it is hashish! I know that—by name at least.”
“That is it precisely, Signor Aladdin; it is hashish—the purest and mostunadulterated hashish of Alexandria,—the hashish of Abou-Gor, thecelebrated maker, the only man, the man to whom there should be built apalace, inscribed with these words, A grateful world to the dealer inhappiness.”
“Do you know,” said Franz, “I have a very great inclination to judge formyself of the truth or exaggeration of your eulogies.”
“Judge for yourself, Signor Aladdin—judge, but do not confine yourselfto one trial. Like everything else, we must habituate the senses to afresh impression, gentle or violent, sad or joyous. There is a strugglein nature against this divine substance,—in nature which is not made forjoy and clings to pain. Nature subdued must yield in the combat, thedream must succeed to
reality, and then the dream reigns supreme, thenthe dream becomes life, and life becomes the dream. But what changesoccur! It is only by comparing the pains of actual being with the joysof the assumed existence, that you would desire to live no longer, butto dream thus forever. When you return to this mundane sphere from yourvisionary world, you would seem to leave a Neapolitan spring for aLapland winter—to quit paradise for earth—heaven for hell! Taste thehashish, guest of mine—taste the hashish.”
Franz’s only reply was to take a teaspoonful of the marvellouspreparation, about as much in quantity as his host had eaten, and liftit to his mouth.
“Diable!” he said, after having swallowed the divine preserve. “I do notknow if the result will be as agreeable as you describe, but the thingdoes not appear to me as palatable as you say.”
“Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the sublimity of thesubstances it flavors. Tell me, the first time you tasted oysters, tea,porter, truffles, and sundry other dainties which you now adore, did youlike them? Could you comprehend how the Romans stuffed their pheasantswith assafœtida, and the Chinese eat swallows’ nests? Eh? no! Well, itis the same with hashish; only eat for a week, and nothing in the worldwill seem to you to equal the delicacy of its flavor, which now appearsto you flat and distasteful. Let us now go into the adjoining chamber,which is your apartment, and Ali will bring us coffee and pipes.”
They both arose, and while he who called himself Sinbad—and whom we haveoccasionally named so, that we might, like his guest, have some title bywhich to distinguish him—gave some orders to the servant, Franz enteredstill another apartment.
It was simply yet richly furnished. It was round, and a large divancompletely encircled it. Divan, walls, ceiling, floor, were all coveredwith magnificent skins as soft and downy as the richest carpets; therewere heavy-maned lion-skins from Atlas, striped tiger-skins from Bengal;panther-skins from the Cape, spotted beautifully, like those thatappeared to Dante; bear-skins from Siberia, fox-skins from Norway, andso on; and all these skins were strewn in profusion one on the other, sothat it seemed like walking over the most mossy turf, or reclining onthe most luxurious bed.
Both laid themselves down on the divan; chibouques with jasmine tubesand amber mouthpieces were within reach, and all prepared so that therewas no need to smoke the same pipe twice. Each of them took one, whichAli lighted and then retired to prepare the coffee.
There was a moment’s silence, during which Sinbad gave himself up tothoughts that seemed to occupy him incessantly, even in the midst of hisconversation; and Franz abandoned himself to that mute reverie, intowhich we always sink when smoking excellent tobacco, which seems toremove with its fume all the troubles of the mind, and to give thesmoker in exchange all the visions of the soul. Ali brought in thecoffee.
“How do you take it?” inquired the unknown; “in the French or Turkishstyle, strong or weak, sugar or none, cool or boiling? As you please; itis ready in all ways.”
“I will take it in the Turkish style,” replied Franz.
“And you are right,” said his host; “it shows you have a tendency for anOriental life. Ah, those Orientals; they are the only men who know howto live. As for me,” he added, with one of those singular smiles whichdid not escape the young man, “when I have completed my affairs inParis, I shall go and die in the East; and should you wish to see meagain, you must seek me at Cairo, Bagdad, or Ispahan.”
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“Ma foi,” said Franz, “it would be the easiest thing in the world; for Ifeel eagle’s wings springing out at my shoulders, and with those wings Icould make a tour of the world in four-and-twenty hours.”
“Ah, yes, the hashish is beginning its work. Well, unfurl your wings,and fly into superhuman regions; fear nothing, there is a watch overyou; and if your wings, like those of Icarus, melt before the sun, weare here to ease your fall.”
He then said something in Arabic to Ali, who made a sign of obedienceand withdrew, but not to any distance.
As to Franz a strange transformation had taken place in him. All thebodily fatigue of the day, all the preoccupation of mind which theevents of the evening had brought on, disappeared as they do at thefirst approach of sleep, when we are still sufficiently conscious to beaware of the coming of slumber. His body seemed to acquire an airylightness, his perception brightened in a remarkable manner, his sensesseemed to redouble their power, the horizon continued to expand; but itwas not the gloomy horizon of vague alarms, and which he had seen beforehe slept, but a blue, transparent, unbounded horizon, with all the blueof the ocean, all the spangles of the sun, all the perfumes of thesummer breeze; then, in the midst of the songs of his sailors,—songs soclear and sonorous, that they would have made a divine harmony had theirnotes been taken down,—he saw the Island of Monte Cristo, no longer as athreatening rock in the midst of the waves, but as an oasis in thedesert; then, as his boat drew nearer, the songs became louder, for anenchanting and mysterious harmony rose to heaven, as if some Loreley haddecreed to attract a soul thither, or Amphion, the enchanter, intendedthere to build a city.
At length the boat touched the shore, but without effort, without shock,as lips touch lips; and he entered the grotto amidst continued strainsof most delicious melody. He descended, or rather seemed to descend,several steps, inhaling the fresh and balmy air, like that which may besupposed to reign around the grotto of Circe, formed from such perfumesas set the mind a-dreaming, and such fires as burn the very senses; andhe saw again all he had seen before his sleep, from Sinbad, his singularhost, to Ali, the mute attendant; then all seemed to fade away andbecome confused before his eyes, like the last shadows of the magiclantern before it is extinguished, and he was again in the chamber ofstatues, lighted only by one of those pale and antique lamps which watchin the dead of the night over the sleep of pleasure.
They were the same statues, rich in form, in attraction, and poesy, witheyes of fascination, smiles of love, and bright and flowing hair. Theywere Phryne, Cleopatra, Messalina, those three celebrated courtesans.Then among them glided like a pure ray, like a Christian angel in themidst of Olympus, one of those chaste figures, those calm shadows, thosesoft visions, which seemed to veil its virgin brow before these marblewantons.
Then the three statues advanced towards him with looks of love, andapproached the couch on which he was reposing, their feet hidden intheir long white tunics, their throats bare, hair flowing like waves,and assuming attitudes which the gods could not resist, but which saintswithstood, and looks inflexible and ardent like those with which theserpent charms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that held himin a torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a voluptuous kiss.
It seemed to Franz that he closed his eyes, and in a last look about himsaw the vision of modesty completely veiled; and then followed a dreamof passion like that promised by the Prophet to the elect. Lips of stoneturned to flame, breasts of ice became like heated lava, so that toFranz, yielding for the first time to the sway of the drug, love was asorrow and voluptuousness a torture, as burning mouths were pressed tohis thirsty lips, and he was held in cool serpent-like embraces. Themore he strove against this unhallowed passion the more his sensesyielded to its thrall, and at length, weary of a struggle that taxed hisvery soul, he gave way and sank back breathless and exhausted beneaththe kisses of these marble goddesses, and the enchantment of hismarvellous dream.